


we're all just dancers

by Laylah



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Celebrations, Illusion Magic, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: Jarlaxle is still watching him intently, still smiling like a panther about to pounce. "Exploring the surface is wonderful. Followingyouis—" He cuts himself off, afraid he's about to say too much.Perhaps he already has. Or perhaps he's said just enough.
Relationships: Jarlaxle Baenre/Fel'rekt Lafeen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	we're all just dancers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonofeternal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofeternal/gifts).



On deck the bards play a triumphant tune, pipe and fiddle racing through wild intervals as the corsairs stamp their feet in time. The music rises into the night sky, a cry of delight so pure it's almost hard to listen to. Or perhaps it's simply that Fel'rekt has little practice yet; this is the first time he's earned the right to join Bregan D'aerthe for a surface mission, and he's struggling to take everything in. Even apart from the sun's glare, and the eye-watering intensity of colors in daylight, there's so much else—the feel of the wind as it sweeps across open sea, the scents of tarred wood and brine and rain, a whole new realm with far more complexity than he ever realized.

Sometimes it's still a bit too much. He slips away from the circle and makes his way below decks, where the music is distant and the darkness is familiar. The ship is handsome and fast, the others have said; a bigger prize than even the contents of her hold, though those include rich spices, sturdy drake hides, and no small amount of mythril ready for the forge. Fel'rekt walks through the corridors, running his fingers along carved wood trim, marveling quietly at how _different_ this fellowship is from any organization of drow he's known before. Not to say he gets along with all of them, but he doesn't feel the need to be on guard constantly. Even the most vicious Bregan D'aerthe agents don't begrudge him his place among them. He isn't constantly waiting to catch a knife in the back.

When the floorboards creak behind him as he explores an officer's cabin, he turns, but he isn't diving for cover or reaching for a blade. It's different here.

And that creak was likely an intentional announcement, for it's the captain standing in the doorway, and Jarlaxle Baenre is a man who is noticed exactly and only when he wants to be. "My, what have we here? Not enjoying the revels?" His smile is quick as a blade and his uncovered eye seems to glitter even in the dark.

"It's just a lot to take in." Fel'rekt shakes his head. "Everything is so different up here."

Jarlaxle takes a swaggering step closer, gorgeous and easily confident, the kind of man who makes Fel'rekt weak in the knees with wanting to either be him or have him. "Don't tell me you miss the Underdark already."

"No!" Fel'rekt takes a matching step toward him without even meaning to. Jarlaxle is still watching him intently, still smiling like a panther about to pounce. "Exploring the surface is wonderful. Following _you_ is—" He cuts himself off, afraid he's about to say too much.

Perhaps he already has. Or perhaps he's said just enough. Jarlaxle slinks inside arm's reach, far too close for polite conversation, close enough that Fel'rekt has to tip his head back to meet his eye. "You were just getting to the good part. Following me is what?"

"Thrilling," Fel'rekt breathes.

"You know just how to talk to a boy," Jarlaxle purrs. Then he kisses Fel'rekt, sweet and hot and unhesitating, the spice of dwarven mead still clinging to his tongue. Fel'rekt makes a noise of surprise, leaning into it, his hands clutching at the fine silk of Jarlaxle's shirt. It's a dizzying kiss, the kind that dooms kingdoms in fairy tales, and he would almost suspect it of being enhanced with magic if he didn't know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jarlaxle doesn't need that to make him swoon. His heart is in his throat and his limbs are thrumming with heat, his whole body arching toward Jarlaxle's. He's kissing—being kissed by—a legend.

Still, when Jarlaxle tugs at the laces of his trousers, Fel'rekt pulls back. "Wait."

Jarlaxle's hands still. "Something the matter?"

Fel'rekt tries to put the words in order, tries to make them come out clear. "You've been so understanding, and I'm so grateful for the chance, but I'm... not like the other men of your crew, exactly, and...."

"And you're worried?" One of Jarlaxle's hands is moving again, just slightly, tracing Fel'rekt's hipbone.

"A-A bit," Fel'rekt says. He hasn't had a tryst with anyone since he stopped trying to pretend he was what the matriarch raised him to be, and he's not sure how it'll go.

Jarlaxle hums. "You meant that oath you took when you joined, aye? That's all that matters." Just having him this close is already making all of Fel'rekt's body tingle and thrum with a desire for more. "I don't care if you've a cock, a cunt, or a damned otyugh in your trousers. I like it just fine and I know what I'm doing."

Still, Fel'rekt holds him at bay with one hand on his chest. "I do care. What I have."

"Fair," Jarlaxle says, his expression softening slightly. "D'you trust me, lad?"

When he asks it that way.... Fel'rekt nods. "I do."

"Then let's see what we can do about a little celebration, hmm?" And Jarlaxle Baenre, Walker Between Worlds, Lord of Luskan, sinks gracefully to his knees. Fel'rekt can barely breathe as Jarlaxle tugs his laces undone, and has to close his eyes when Jarlaxle pulls his trousers and his smallclothes down.

Jarlaxle's mouth is hot and wet against his flesh, and he clearly meant it about both knowing his way around and enjoying himself. His lips and tongue are agile and hungry, his rhythm demanding. He even moans for it, as if he's the one being pleasured. Fel'rekt braces himself against the wall and tries not to lose his footing, his legs trembling and his breath ragged.

Then something shifts in the air around them, the slight change in the weight of reality that happens when a spell is cast, and Jarlaxle makes a noise that's less like a pure moan of pleasure and more like he's asking for something. Fel'rekt almost wants to ignore it, wants to not investigate until he's done here—the tension hot between his hips, the need building—

But he makes himself open his eyes and look down, and _oh_. He can feel what Jarlaxle is actually doing, mouth moving against the parts he has, but what he _sees_ is Jarlaxle's cheeks hollowed and gorgeous mouth stretched around his cock. It can't be more than an illusion but it's perfect, the heat flooding through his limbs and bursting as he claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his cries.

He melts down completely under Jarlaxle's mouth, shaking and gasping, and by the time Jarlaxle pulls back Fel'rekt can barely keep his feet even with the wall to hold him up. Jarlaxle wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, and he's grinning when his hand comes away. "Well. Dare I hope you're enjoying your evening a bit more now?"

"More than a bit," Fel'rekt says. He feels giddy, loose-jointed and buoyant, and licks his lips. "Can I—"

"Captain!" someone calls from the corridor—Nar'l, it sounds like, a little reedy, a little nervous. "A-are—are you free?"

Fel'rekt's cheeks heat: the others have a good guess what Jarlaxle's been up to, and at least some of them will have noticed he wasn't up on deck anymore.

"Be right there!" Jarlaxle calls in response. He turns back to Fel'rekt with an apologetic smile. "A captain's work is never done, I'm afraid. But once I've sorted whatever the Xibrindas boys are arguing about how, how about we pick up round two in the captain's quarters?"

"Yes," Fel'rekt says immediately, before he can second-guess himself. "I'd love to."

"It's a promise," Jarlaxle says, rising smoothly to his feet.

Fel'rekt watches him go, for the moment too thrilled and dizzy to even put his clothes back in order. Round two in the captain's quarters, after Jarlaxle has already been so good to him and so understanding...

Joining Bregan D'aerthe has been the best decision of his life.


End file.
